Page 5 of At Your Door

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When I wake up for the second time, it’s to the sound of my walls vibrating. Fortunately, it isn’t from the sound of someone’s body evaporating. But I can’t decide which is worse, because the music blasting through my apartment right now makes me want to rip my ears off.

Any other day, I would just roll my eyes and tell Eleanor about it, but after hours of tossing and turning and suffering through her live show next door, the music feels like the cherry on top.

I have officially had enough.

I know I’m losing it when I jump off the couch without putting on shoes. Still in my uniform from yesterday, I swing open my front door, tripping over everything in my path. I barely take three steps before I’m standing in front of her door.

For a split second, I rethink my plan. I know this isn't me. I’mnotconfrontational. As the music blares even louder, I raise my fist and start banging on her door. After a few knocks, the music cuts off, and I hear footsteps approaching. I straighten my shoulders and plant my hands on my hips.

But when the door opens, I have to gather my thoughts and control my expression as I'm greeted by a sheer white T-shirt and two very prominent points staring back at me. I quickly tilt my head up before my eyes linger too long and meet the darkest blue eyes I’ve ever seen. This isn't what I expected—her face is framed by the brightest orange hair, and as I finish my quick once-over, I notice plaid pajama shorts barely peeking out from under her tee.

“Can I help you?” Her eyebrows are raised up at me, and her slight attitude as if I interruptedhermorning, immediately reminds me why I’m here.

“Uh… yes, actually. I would really appreciate it if you were a little more considerate of the fact that this is an apartment building, notyourhouse.” My snappy tone makes her eyebrows shoot up even higher, and I don’t miss how her eyes slowly scan over me, leaving me suddenly vulnerable, knowing I still smell and look like a coffee-stained mess. Still, I cross my arms over my chest and hold my ground.

“And as your next-door neighbor, I’d love it if you tried to keep your private life a little moreprivate.” I put on a fake tight smile as I nod–hinting at what I had to suffer through last night.

A small smirk begins to grow on her face. “Ohhh,you’reMia. They told me I would meet you at some point.”

I stare back in confusion.

“How do you know my name? Who are ‘they’? Have you met Alex and Mary?” I ask, stumbling over my words. She’s fully smiling now, clearly amused.

“You sound surprised. Of course, I’ve met them. Alex mentioned a few days ago that he was heading out for another adventure, and I knew Mary wouldn’t hear my music. But obviously, I haven’t had the chance to meet you yet, so I had no idea.”

She gives me another slow once-over, her gaze lingering before the tip of her tongue grazes her plump lips.

“Obviously,” I add.

Her brows lift at me again, and I roll my eyes, feeling my frustration rise. Of course, she’s already made herself at home on the sixth floor. No one else seems bothered by her, which only makes me feel like the crazy one. But she doesn’t seem to care. Her gaze drifts past me, toward my apartment, and her eyes narrow at something on the ground.

“Uh... is that my package?”

I freeze when her words finally register. My eyes nearly pop out of my skull as I turn around and see what I tripped over in my rush out of the apartment. It wasn’t just a pair of shoes or some trash—it was a solid black rubber dildo

CHAPTER 3

MIA

“Well, what did you say?” El whispers, handing me the next cup. My hands move quickly to turn it, squinting at the scribbled name. Jane? Or maybe James…? The handwriting is a total mess.

“Is that a ‘M’ or an ‘N’?” I ask in return.

“Don’t change the fucking subject. What did you say?” she demands, her eyes drilling into me.

“I said no.” I turn away, heading toward the sink to avoid her reaction, but her silence says it all.

“What do you mean, you saidno?!”

She’s whisper-yelling, not that it matters—our customers can definitely hear her. It’s almost 10:30 AM on a Monday, well past rush hour, and the shop is nearly empty. All that’s left are the work-from-home types looking for a change of scenery and students needing a study spot.

For once, I wish we had a crowd so I could bury myself in work instead of replaying what is easily the most mortifying moment of my life.

“I mean, there was a fucking dildo sticking out of a box by my front door—I didn’t know what to say.” I barely notice as my hands begin to grip firmly on the edge of the sink.

“So, I said ‘no,’ grabbed everything in one go, and ran inside before slamming the door shut.”

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